


No...

by msxylda



Series: Barnes's Beginnings [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Inappropriate dude, M/M, What happened in that car while Steve was creepily macking on the niece of his dead girlfriend, like sam and bucky are, show some respect, sort of, well at least i stopped them before they messed up the seats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msxylda/pseuds/msxylda
Summary: When Bucky asks Sam to move his seat up, it wasn’t the first time he’d told Bucky no that day.It would not be the last, either.





	

“So … “ the man in the back seat started, and Sam Wilson didn’t need to have nearly a century of shared history to know that whatever was about to happen was not going to be good. “No one cares if blacks and whites date now?”

Oh how he hated being right.

“No.” There, succinct and to the point. Hopefully that would shut the little shit up.

Some garbled noise of agreement came from the backseat, and Sam let out a breath in—

“And no one cares if two men date each other now?” 

Of course. The man had been nothing but trouble since Sam had met him. Since he’d ripped the steering wheel out of his hand. Since he’d torn Sam’s wings off before kicking him off a helicarrier.

Why should he be any different now?

He was probably pissed he didn’t get more time to play with his damn plums.

His clever pun took some of the venom out of his second clipped, “no.”

“Can you move your seat up?” Barnes asked and he shifted around, his knees digging into Sam’s back. Fuck this car and fuck Steve for thinking it was a good plan. He was going to have bruises, again, courtesy of The Winter Soldier.

“No,” he snapped.

“But I can’t get comfortable…” the younger, older man whined from the back. Tough shit, Sam thought as he resolutely did not move his seat forward. He was going to have to do a lot more than—

An arm snaked around the seat, caressing his side. Before Sam could smack it away or scream- not that he would have, he was The Falcon- the other arm slithered up as well. The other arm. The metal arm. Was resting on his collarbone as the thumb caressed his pulse.

He was going to die.

“You don’t mind, do you?” The bastard asked. 

Sam swallowed. Opened his mouth to tell the jackass that of course he minded, and then closed it again. Barnes wasn’t actively trying to kill him. Sam should know, he’d experienced that before. (See previous: steering wheel and wings) 

No, this was… different.

And while his pulse was increasing, it wasn’t fear.

It felt more like …

Oh hell, it felt more like arousal.

“Nooo…” he didn’t whimper- because he did not whimper- before remembering that Barnes had just asked a question. One he’d just answered.

He wanted to be upset about that, but he found he couldn’t be. Not with his pulse racing and sending all his blood away from his brain, at any rate.

The man in back leaned forward then, his flesh arm wrapping further around Sam and the whole encounter feeling three hundred percent more intimate.

“And you …” he purred into Sam’s ear. “You’re one of those … you’re not straight?”

Even with the stumble in the middle- probably over outdated and now offensive slang- it was smooth as hell. 

Sam had to swallow again before he offered up his now rote “No.”

“And you aren’t afraid of interracial relationships… personally?” The thumb hadn’t stopped moving as he continued to whisper, his voice hot and thick in Sam’s ear.

In his blood.

“No.”

“And you’re not against dating a veteran?”

The flesh arm dropped lower, causing his next “no” to be more of a hiss. One half shock, the other half desperate hope. 

Just a little lower.

The hand didn’t drift lower. Instead, as Barnes asked, “someone with scars?” the arm wormed its way under Sam’s shirt. 

“No…”

Bare flesh was resting on bare flesh. The weight of it hot and heavy against his tender skin. He was vulnerable in a way he’d never allowed himself to be with Barnes, and when he asked his next question Sam couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

“Mental and physical?”

And he wanted to reply “not if you don’t,” but he didn’t want to ruin the game.

And if he was being honest, he didn’t want to admit he was still scarred himself. That he might not be worth the effort for Bucky. 

Because Bucky…

“I mean, seriously big scars. Like metal arm, scars.”

Yeah, that. 

“No,” he replied honestly before he laughed. More of a half snort. Kind of an exhalation of breath. Not that it was funny. More that it was. It just was. He didn’t care that Bucky had scars, and Bucky wouldn’t care about his. 

Not enough to consider this a bad idea. 

“So if I asked you out, would you say no?”

Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. Enough to know it was probably a bad idea, and not care anyway. 

So what, they were both broken. They could be broken together.

He was smiling this time as he said the most confident “no,” of the whole exchange.

“Sam, will you—“

But he couldn’t just start saying yes to the man, not now. Saying yes would throw off the entire equilibrium of their… whatever this was. So before the other man could ask, he interrupted with a question of his own. “If we make it out of this alive,” he said with as much of his previous growl as he could scrape together, “you’re taking me to a fancy steakhouse. A fancy one, Barnes, one with cigars and whiskey that costs enough to feed an entire country.”

Which, admittedly, sounded like less of a question and more of a statement, but Barnes seemed to understand anyway. At least based on the smirk he could feel against his neck implied his understanding, at any rate.

“Of course,” he said, reaffirming their—“doll.”

Well fuck, there went the balance.


End file.
